


Aftermath

by Moondreamer



Series: Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: After Trespasser, F/M, What Happens After, Wolf Hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4811444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moondreamer/pseuds/Moondreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is left after everything is over? Can love still endure in the face of such odds? Can a god bent on destroying the world be saved from himself?</p><p>Hope isn't dead. Banal Nadas!</p><p>Feel free to leave comments. I always love hearing from people ^_^</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is. It will be multi-chaptered and I hope to give my view of events after the end of Trespasser. I needed closure. I hope to finish this project but... I'm not good at finishing long projects. Anyway, I hope you guys will appreciate.

The day was pleasant, warm and sunny, and all was calm at last at the Winter palace. Ellana Lavellan, Herald of Andraste, destroyer of ancient darkspawn magisters, and former Inquisitor, leaned over the banister overlooking the palace gardens and stared into the distance. There was much she had to do, but couldn’t quite bring herself to start just yet. Her left arm twinged where the stump met air, the ghost of a pain that should be gone by now. She grimaced. She’d been warned about it by her healers, but it didn’t make the sensation any more pleasant. It was yet another reminder of what she’d lost — and what she still needed to accomplish. She sighed. Enough daydreaming.

The sound of footsteps behind her on the gravel path warned her she wasn’t alone with her thoughts anymore. Recognizing this particular gait, she was smiling even before she turned around. “Varric,” she said in lieu of greeting. 

“Inq— “ Varric stumbled on the title, stopped himself, gave Ellana a wry smile, and shrugged. “I guess I should find some other nickname now that you’re not Inquisitor anymore.”

“Why not simply Ellana? Or Lavellan?”

“Lavellan.” He pronounced the name as though it was a fragile creature to be treasured. 

Ellana rolled her eyes. Varric was acting strangely. Actually, all her companions were since finding her alone in front of the eluvian, her disintegrating left arm held in front of her in a pleading gesture. She hadn’t even been aware of the pain anymore. Fortunately, Cole had known what to do. His dagger had severed the dying limb to the elbow, probably saving the rest of her arm in the process. Now that she was back safely in Orlais, they all acted as though she were made out of spun glass, avoiding the subjects of her missing arm and broken heart.

“Varric, I’m fine. Really. There’s no need to tiptoe around me”

He gave her dubious look. “I’ve seen and written about enough tragedies to know how these things go.”

She snorted, a bad habit she’d copied from Cassandra. “I’m not a character in one our of your books, and this isn’t a tragedy. Not yet.” Dread Wolf take it all, she refused to give up hope.

Varric threw his hands up. “Alright, point taken. What do you intend to do now?” He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “I’m leaving for Kirkwall tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“You could… I don’t know. Come with me? The new comtesse of Kirkwall, come to visit her holdings. I have friends there who’d love to meet you.”

For a moment, Ellana considered it. How would it feel to leave Orlais and Ferelden behind? To take the burden off her shoulders, if only for a few months? A vacation. The idea had its appeal, but in the end, she couldn't bring herself to do itp. She still had the world to save--and she snorted mentally at how self-agrandizing that sounded. She couldn't stop now.

“That’s kind of you, Varric, and I might take you up on that offer later, but I still have some things I need to do here.” So many things. Already, her mind was drifting in four directions at once. She needed Scout Harding to search for Morrigan and Flemeth, although she held little hope of finding Mythal’s incarnation unless she allowed herself to be found. She wanted Dorian to research anything the Tevinter might know about ancient Arlathan and eluvians, and if possible recreate the elvhen technology for her use. She’d already set Leliana—not that the new divine had needed the instruction—to watching the ex-Inquisition’s scouts to see where they would go next. At least one of them should reveal themselves as being an agent of Fen’Harel. She hoped to learn their destination. 

And then, she had her own plans. If she were to have any hope of stopping the dread wolf, she needed to stay ahead of him. Knowing Solas, it would be a near-impossible thing to do. It was a challenge she was willing to take on, however. She would find a way to reach him before it was too late.

“Planning something?”

She smiled. “Always.”

Varric smiled. “Chuckles won’t know what hit him.”

Her smile turned rueful. “I certainly hope so.”

“Wait… I probably shouldn’t call him Chuckles anymore. Calling one of the elvhen gods “Chuckles” has to be bad luck, or something.”

“He’s not a god.” Solas had never claimed to be a god. Him and the rest of her pantheon were nothing but powerful mages. “Keep calling him Chuckles. It’s good to remember he’s still Solas.” If Varric noticed the way her voice wavered at the end of her sentence, he didn’t comment on it.

“Right. Not a god. Just a mage capable of turning an entire contingent of Qunari to stone with one thought. That’s Chuckles alright.” His quip wasn’t entirely convincing. Varric sounded afraid of Solas. Ellana couldn’t really blame him, not when the man had vowed to destroy the world and all those living in it.

“Yes. He also saved my life when he could have just as easily waited for the anchor to kill me before taking it back. He didn’t need to tell me of his plans either. It has to mean something.”

“If this was one of my books, I’d say he hopes to be stopped, but...” Varric left his sentence unfinished and instead shrugged.

“But this isn’t one of your books,” she finished for him. Still, she hoped Varric was right. She clinged to that hope with all she had, or she would drown in her own despair. She took a deep breath to clear her head and changed the subject. “Thank you for everything, Varric. I won’t forget it.”

Before she could do or say anything more, Varric had thrown his arms around her. She froze, before relaxing and simply letting him hold her She’d not expected the hug, but now, it was bringing tears to her eyes. “Varric—”

“Least I can do,” he grumbled. “You’ve done the same when I… when we lost Hawke.”

She nodded numbly.

“You’ll save Chuckles from himself. If anyone can do it, it will be you.” He let her go to take a step back and smirk up at her. “And I’ll never be able to write about it. No one will believe that I haven't invented the whole thing.”

Ellanna couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Come on Varric, it would be your masterpiece. It has everything. Love, hate, angst, false gods, and a desperate bid to save the world. What more could your readers wish for?” She winked.

“Now, that’s the spirit.” Varric smiled for a moment longer before growing serious once more. “You’ll keep in touch?”

“Definitely. I asked Dorian for more communication crystals. He should be sending one of them your way soon. I… I still need all of you. This fight isn’t over.” And with the Inquisition disbanded, a decision she couldn’t bring herself to regret, she needed them now more than ever

“I’ll be there whenever you need it, Lavellan, you only have to ask.”

When finally Ellana parted ways with Varric, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. As long as she had friends by her side, as long as _some_ people still believed, she would keep on hoping.


	2. Chapter 2

Her next stop was Dagna’s makeshift workroom, situated in Divine Victoria’s private quarters now that the Inquisition camp had been taken down. The heat of a makeshift forge the dwarf had somehow managed to build in the few weeks she’s been there greeted Ellana as soon as she set foot inside the room.

“Dagna?” she called, not seeing the arcanist anywhere.

“Over here,” Dagna called back from somewhere farther back.

Ellana weaved her way in between bits and pieces of machinery she couldn’t start to identify, until she found Dagna leaning over a low table, working on something she couldn’t quite see.

“Good morning, Inquisitor. No wait, it’s not inquisitor anymore, is it? Should it be Herald?”

Ellana sighed and rolled her eyes. How hard was it for people to start using her name? She didn’t think she’d been quite so aloof during her time as Inquisitor that it would be hard for her friends to do so. “Ellana. Just Ellana. Or Lavellan if you really insist. I’m not Inquisitor anymore, and I never was the Herald of anything.”

Was this how Solas felt about the name Fen’Harel? Like the title had swallowed him whole and that trying to regain a sense of himself as a person was near impossible? She mentally swore. She didn’t want to think about Solas. Not now. Such thoughts led to too much pain and distracted her from what needed to be done. “You sent me a message?” 

Dagna finally looked up from her work and grinned. “I did! It’s almost done and I need you to try it on, see if it still needs more adjustments.”

Dagna took the assemblage of silverite and ironbark she had been working on and proudly held it for Ellana to inspect. It looked like a forearm—which was a relief, seeing just how _innovative_ Dagna could sometimes be—grey and brown and slick, each finger individually articulated using a series of gears almost too small to see. The whole thing was a miracle of dwarven engineering mixed with the arcane arts. But still…

“Will it truly work?” she asked.

“Only one way to find out!” 

Ellana nodded in spite of her reservations about the new prosthetics. Losing her left arm had left her unable to tie her own hair, much less wield her bow. She hated feeling like an invalid. Every time she reached out with the arm that wasn’t there anymore, every time she tried to do something she couldn’t anymore, it hit her just how weak and vulnerable she was now that the anchor was gone. But she couldn’t allow herself to feel weak and vulnerable, now less than ever. If Dagna’s newest creation could help, she would be eternally grateful to the arcanist.

Without another word, she started to unhook the front of her tunic, the fingers of her right hand struggling with the task. The Dread Wolf take all those buttons! _Wait... Perhaps that wasn't the best expression to use..._

“Do you… do you need any help?” Dagna asked after a moment, sounding unsure of how the offer would be received.

Ellana huffed. “No, it’s quite alright. I need to learn how to do it myself.”

Finally, she managed to free her left arm from the confine of the pinned-back sleeve. The stump was still wrapped in bandages, although the wound was almost healed now, thanks to the palace healers’ care. She quickly looked away from it. It wasn’t a sight that ever got easier to contemplate.

“You don’t mind if I touch it, do you? I need to touch it to adjust the prosthetics.” Dagna hovered close, waiting.

 _It?_ For a moment, Ellana looked at Dagna, confused. Then, “Oh… you mean my arm. Yes of course, go ahead.” 

“It doesn’t hurt, does it? If it still hurts, I promise I’ll be really careful…”

“No, it doesn’t hurt. Not anymore.” For the first time in months, the anchor wasn’t buzzing under her skin, just on the wrong side of pain, making it hard to sleep or focus on anything other than the knowledge that is was slowly killing her. She might have lost her arm, but at least she was still alive to fight another day.

“Good. Good. Now, let’s see. It will be easier if you sit down. You’re, well… you’re tall, and I’m short, in case you didn’t notice.” Dagna waved to Ellana, than herself, to make her point, then pointed at her workbench.

Ellana didn’t consider herself to be tall. She was definitely no qunari, and even humans tended to loom over her in most situations, but she supposed that for a dwarf she’d appear tall enough. “I noticed.” She smiled and sat down, extending her stump forward so Dagna could better take a hold of it.

For the next several minutes, Dagna worked, mostly in silence, but sometimes muttering under her breath about gears and lyrium and enchantments. Ellana winced as the prosthetics pinched at her still sensitive skin. The longer this lasted, the stranger the sensation became. Her left arm itched and tingled and felt like she was slowly regaining feelings into fingers that didn’t exist anymore.

“Almost there,” Dagna finally announced. “How does it feel?”

“It’s strange. Almost like it’s my own arm.”

Dagna grinned. “Then it’s working! I wasn’t sure it would work. I’ve never done anything like it before, but all my calculations showed it could work.” She looked so proud that Ellana couldn’t help but to smile back at her. “Now, try to move your hand.”

Ellana did as instructed, although she wasn’t sure how to do so. Was there something specific she needed to focus on? Focusing on the prosthetics, she willed it to move. For a moment nothing happened. Her smile faltered. It wasn’t working. Then her hand quivered, jerked once, then fell immobile again.

Dagna hummed, then leaned over the arm again to adjust a few things. The tingling intensified, making Ellana want to both scratch herself and, for some reason, sneeze. “Try again now,” Dagna said.

This time, the movement was less jerky and more controlled. It wasn’t perfect, but for the first time since losing her arm, Ellana felt some hope that she could perhaps wield a bow again.

“Good, good. Your fingers now. One at a time.”

This was much harder to accomplish, and it took Ellana almost fifteen minutes and countless tries before she managed to move them in any sort of independent fashion. By the end of it, she was sweating and panting as though she’d just battled a bear and barely won. But, she’d succeeded, and that was the most important part. The rest would come with time and practice.

“It’s working.” She hadn’t really been convinced that it could.

“Of course it’s working. After all, I’m the best.”

“Thank you, Dagna,” Ellana said with feeling. She nearly hugged the arcanist, but stopped herself at the last second. She didn’t want to make things between them even more awkward than they already were.

“Think nothing of it. It was a good project. Now, if there’s any more problems with it, you know where to find me.” 

Since the Inquisition was no more, Dagna had accepted Divine Victoria’s invitation to stay in Val Royeaux, at least for the moment. The ex-spymaster knew to keep their best assets close at hand for the struggle to come. Ellana agreed with her.

Pulling her tunic back on was once again a struggle, but of another sort. Her new arm felt unwieldy and strange still, and not much help with closing the buttons. But she did manage, in time and without help. Finally, she gave Dagna a smile, bid her good day, and left the workroom. Once aside, she looked around for one of the palace guards. She had one more person to talk to before she returned to her own quarters for the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are slowly getting into place, even though I'm not quite certain where this is going. Hope you guys stay patient with me. There will be some Solas soon, I promise!


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was dipping toward the horizon by the time Ellana made her way into the Empress’ private gardens. After several minutes wandering its empty and quiet paths, she started to wonder if the guards had been mistaken in sending her there.

“Were you looking for someone, mistress Lavellan?”

Ellana whipped around, taken by surprise. She hadn’t heard anyone approaching. But, as befit her reputation as spymaster to Empress Celene, Briala knew how to walk silently in spite of the Orlesian finery she wore. Ellana forced herself to relax again and inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Actually, I was looking for you, my lady.” 

“Please, call me Briala. We are in private.” 

“Only if you’ll call me Ellana.”

“With pleasure, Ellana.”

The stilted conversation reminded Ellana too much of the months she’d spent in negotiations with the Orlesians. Always dancing around important issues and keeping up pretenses in all situations, even while plotting murder— or so it always seemed to her. It set her teeth on edge. She felt like swearing, as she wasn’t in any kind of mood to play the Game with the new Marquess of the Dales. Fortunately, Josephine had taught her better than to show impatience in the face of meaningless small-talk. 

“Can we talk for a moment?” she asked Briala.

“Of course. Walk with me?” Behind the ever present mask, Briala’s expression was inscrutable, and her voice gave up nothing of her thoughts.

Ellana fell into step beside Briala as the two women made their way farther into the garden. Silence fell while Ellana tried to figure out how to approach the subject of Solas and his plans. She wasn’t even sure if Briala, as a city elf, was aware of the Dalish legends concerning the Dread Wolf. Before she could find a good starting point, however, Briala started speaking. “I have heard some strange rumors circulating around the palace since your return through the eluvian.”

“Oh?” She couldn’t say she was surprised. Despite trying to keep Solas’ identity a secret—the last thing she wanted was to cause more violence toward the elves of Thedas if it became known—rumors were bound to flourish like weeds in a badly tended garden. It was inevitable.

“It is said you battled one of the ancient Creators on the other side of the mirror, and won.”

Ellana snorted. “Hardly that. I did fight quite a few qunari though.” _And freed a dragon. And faced a god that wasn’t one. And got her heart broken all over again._

“It is also said this Creator stole back the magic he had bestowed upon you to fight Corypheus.”

This was closer to the truth, although not quite right. “The Anchor was killing me. It had to go,” she edged, unsure where Briala was heading with the conversation.

“Is any of this true?”

Ellana sighed. She already meant to tell Briala about Fen’harel and warn her about possible repercussions against the elves. It was as good an opening as any. “Yes and no. It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” Briala stopped and turned to face her. Anger simmered in her eyes and turned her mouth into a flat, unfriendly line. “For the last few weeks, elves have been disappearing one by one from Halamshiral. Gone without a trace. At first, I thought there was a serial murderer roaming the alienage, but my agents report the same situation also happening elsewhere in Orlais. And we never find any bodies. Tell me, Ellana, _what is happening to my people?_ ”

The explanation she’d been preparing died in Ellana’s throat. “I hadn’t heard about this,” she said instead.

“Few people have. Few here care about enough to notice some elves disappearing without explanation.”

Was this Solas’ doing? She knew by now that he had agents everywhere. Could it be that he was recalling them to his side now that she had learned about them? “I’m not completely sure it’s related, but I might have an explanation.”

“I thought you might,” Briala replied flatly.

Where to start? “As usual, the rumors of my exploits are greatly exaggerated, but they’re not completely wrong. I did in fact find more than the Ben-Hassrath on that day.” She gulped and pushed down the hard knot that had formed in her throat before she continued. “What do you know of the Dread Wolf?”

The question surprised Briala more than Ellana expected. Her eyes rounded in what could only be called shock, before she recovered and her expression cleared again. “I know of Fen’Harel, yes. I have—” She stopped and shook her head. “—had a… mentor once who told me much about the Dread Wolf.” 

“Dalish tales speak of him as a trickster and a traitor to his own kind. The reality…” It was Ellana’s turn to shake her head. Now that it was time to voice the truth, she found herself unable to articulate it. Yet, she must. “The reality is both very different and far more complex. Fen’Harel is—No, let me rephrase that. Fen’Harel is not his true name. Solas is—”

“Wait! Are you speaking of your manservant?”

Ellana was surprised Briala even remembered about Solas, seeing as he’d done his best to fade in the background on that night—was it almost three years ago now? “Yes, but I can explain.” Or at least try to. She knew she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

“What does he have to do with the Dread Wolf of legend?”

“Not legend so much as a twisted version of our history passed down through the ages. The Creators weren’t gods, but they were real.” She paused and looked away so the pain in her eyes wouldn’t show. “The same is true of Fen’Harel. The man you called my manservant—Solas is the Dread Wolf. I didn’t know until he came back for the anchor.” And what a fool she’d felt when she realized she was in love with the one member of their pantheon all young Dalish were warned about.

_May the Dread Wolf take her indeed._

A minute passed, then a second, without Briala reacting in any way. Finally, Ellana dared glanced at her, only to find Briala seemingly deep in thought. Again, this wasn’t the reaction she’d expected after imparting information that could shake the very foundations of elven beliefs. Unsure of the meaning of Briala’s silence, Ellana forged on. “The elves who disappeared might have been his agents. It seems he had spies everywhere, including inside the Inquisition. Now that we know about them, he might have found it more prudent to recall them. Or they might simply be elves who heard rumors and are hoping to join his cause. Without more information, it’s hard to say.” She doubted Solas was puposefully calling modern elves to fight by his side. He never considered them to be his people, after all. In spite of this, she knew many elves who would flock to him and think nothing of sacrificing their own lives in the hope of a better future for their people.

“What are the Dread Wolf’s plans?” Briala finally asked. “Is he organizing a rebellion against the humans?” 

If only this was the case, her heart wouldn’t break every time she thought of Solas. “It’s a long story.” She looked around to make sure no one else was around. “Let’s keep walking while I tell you what I know.”

By the time Ellana ended her explanation, Briala’s skin had taken an ashen tint underneath her golden mask. “Maker,” she murmured in horror. “If this becomes public knowledge, there will be a bloodbath. It’ll be the Exalted March of the Dales all over again.”

“Leliana would never order an Exalted March against the elves, and she already knows all I’ve told you.”

“That won’t make any difference. Fen’Harel is one of ours. We will be held responsible.”

“Unfortunately, I believe you’re right and it's why I wanted to warn you. I will do anything in my power to stop Solas, but despite rumors to the contrary, I can’t be everywhere at once.” As Marquess of the Dales and Empress Celene’s lover, Briala was in the best position to protect the elves, at least those living in Orlais. “Your own spy network is certainly also compromised.” Solas had spoken of at least one agent who was to get him the password for the eluvians Briala controlled. He had implied killing said agent for failing in his task, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have others.

“I already figured as much.”

Ellana sighed. “So, now you know,” she echoed Solas’ words.

After a long moment of weighted silence, Briala sighed in turn. “I believe there is someone you need to meet.”

“Now?”

Briala shook her head. “Not today. I am meeting with Celene very soon. Meet me at the vhenadhal of Halamshiral’s alienage after dark tomorrow.”

“Who is this person?”

“It’s better that you see for yourself.”

Curious now, Ellana nodded. “I’ll be there.” 

“Until tomorrow, then.” 

Ellana watched Briala walk away, wondering who could be so important for her to meet. Could it be a trap? 

She would find out soon enough, one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ellana's done with talking with everyone for now, I promise :) I realize I've made 3 chapters that were mostly dialogue and not much action, but it's the way it came to me *shrugs*


	4. Chapter 4

Nights always were the worse. When the palace corridors fell silent but for the slight hiss of torches, it was all too easy for memories of the past—of her failures and her doubts—to assault Ellana’s mind, threatening to crush her under their weight. These were the moments when loneliness and fear wrapped themselves around her heart like vines, until she felt like she would choke on the feeling. When it got to be too much, she would push herself to the point of exhaustion, hoping that by the time she finally collapsed in bed, her sleep would stay undisturbed by nightmares. 

That night was no exception. After a long run around Halamshiral’s courtyards and gardens—by now, guards and servants were used to seeing her rushing past—she spent over an hour working to improve her mobility with her new prosthetic. The process was a slow and frustrating one. Her stump hurt where metal met flesh, and the hand kept jerking around when she didn’t give it her full attention. Half the time, she still couldn’t get the fingers to move independently, much less grip a bow or a knife. 

In the end, she cursed and nearly threw the prosthetic arm against the wall. Only the knowledge that Dagna had spent hours upon hours working on it for her sake stopped her from doing so. She took a deep, calming breath. Anger wasn’t the answer.

From the start, she’d realized that not even the best in dwarven engineering and arcane magic would totally replace the hand she’d lost. She’d also known the process of acclimatizing herself to the prosthetics would be long and arduous, and not accomplished in a single day.

There was time still. She only needed to be patient. 

Ellana finally set the prosthetic down on one of the bedroom’s two chest of drawers, carefully avoiding her reflection in the overly gilded mirror hanging over it. Without bothering to undress first, she threw herself on the bed and willed herself to sleep.

If only it was that easy.

In spite of her fatigue, it took over an hour of regulating her breathing and calming her thoughts as Solas had once taught her before she fell asleep at last. 

Demons dodged Ellana’s steps in the Fade, bringing with them nightmares of things to come.

She was running. Stumbling. Falling. With a grunt, she staggered back to her feet and pushed forward. She needed to reach shelter. She couldn’t give up now. 

Soon, she stood knee deep in the powdery snow while around her the wind howled, swallowing every other sound. She could barely see five feet in front of her nose. But, everything felt wrong. The snow didn’t melt as it touched her skin, and it tasted like dust on her lips.

It was then that it dawned on her. This wasn’t snow at all. It was ash that blanketed everything and fell in ever greater quantity as she struggled to walk. In the distance, more than the wind howled. Beasts of a sort no one had seen in eons prowled the desolate landscape. Death was on the hunt tonight.

As she glanced up, she caught sight of a sky bleeding green, torn open by some mighty act of magic that put the Breach to shame. The veil, she realized. It had been torn asunder. The two world were merging, but the consequences of it…

This couldn’t be what Solas planned. She refused to believe it could end this way.

“No… no. No!” she screamed, falling to her knees.

The next time she looked up, a despair demon hovered in front of her, its maw opened wide as though to swallow her whole. She only had time to raise her arm in front of her in a futile attempt to protect herself from the incoming attack.

But the attack never came.

For an instant, the demon stood frozen in mid-air, before it turned to stone in front of her eyes and fell to the ground with a thunk. The ash dissipated around her, and the wind abated. In the deafening silence that followed, Ellana searched for the only man who could have entered her nightmare and transformed her dreamscape.

_Solas._

The name hung in the air, unsaid.

She pushed herself back up and slowly swivelled around. Where was he? She could see nothing but rocks and stripped-down trees now that the ash was gone. “Solas!” she finally called out loud. He had to be here. Somewhere.

She suddenly saw movement at the edge of her vision and she whipped around. There. Far enough that she could barely make it out was a huge, white wolf. “Solas!” she shouted again as it made to leave.

She wanted to run to him, but her feet were rooted in place—his doing or her own insecurities, she couldn't tell. She called his name a third time. 

She sensed more than heard his words as he disappeared from sight. _Wake up, vhenan._

Ellana shot to a sitting position in her bed, Solas’ name still caught in her throat. 

*****

With remnants of her nightmare still clinging to her thoughts like cobwebs, Ellana spent the next day trying to keep herself busy and wondering who Briala wanted her to meet. Had Briala caught one of Solas’ spies? That could certainly prove interesting. Such a spy might not know much of Solas’ plans, but if nothing else they might offer clues as to the Dread Wolf’s current whereabouts.

Evening couldn’t come quickly enough. 

She left the palace after nightfall, alone in spite of Leliana and Cassandra’s concerns. She might be missing an arm, but she was not defenseless and still knew how to wield a dagger competently enough to protect herself. A small part of her almost hoped she’d be attacked, to show them all that she could still fight.

It was not to be, however, and she happened upon the vhenadahl without incident. All around her, signs of the fire that had engulfed the alienage years ago still lingered. Empty lots and burnt bits of wooden beams indicated houses that never were rebuilt, perhaps because their inhabitants had perished in the blaze. The tree itself sported many scars, dead branches and carbonized bark that had been left alone as though to remind everyone who saw them of the tragedy. 

Beside the tree stood a cloaked figure, who stepped forward the moment Ellana walked into view.

“Ellana,” Briala said in lieu of greeting. 

“Briala,” Ellana replied, just as deadpan.

“You came. I suppose you are wondering why I asked you to meet me here.”

“That question has crossed my mind, I’ll admit. My advisors feared a trap.”

Briala didn’t answer and Ellana shrugged. “Color me naive if you want, but I don’t see why you, of all people, would wish me harm. Mostly, though, I was curious.” She smirked. “Some would say it’s a character flaw of mine.”

Briala nodded. “Follow me, then. He is awaiting our arrival.”

At that bit of information, Ellana perked an eyebrow. It didn’t sound like they were about to visit a prisoner. “He lives in the alienage, then?”

Briala hesitated for a second or two before answering. “Yes. I thought it better for him to reside there. The palace tends to be full of intrigues. In his current state, I didn’t think it advisable for him to stay with me.”

“His current state?”

Briala sighed. “You will soon see.”

She stopped in front of a run-down house and took a key out of her pocket to unlock the ramshackle door. She knocked three times before opening it and stepping inside. Ellana followed, now more intrigued than ever.

The house’s single room was kept neat and tidy, the few pieces of furniture old but well maintained. A man sat beside a small fire, his face hidden by a curtain of long, dark brown hair.

“Hahren?” Briala called out gently, although it was impossible that the man hadn’t already heard them come in.

Slowly, the man turned to look their way, and Ellana couldn’t help her gasp of surprise. He was an elf, and he wore vallaslin unlike anything she’d encountered before. His violet eyes, clear as glass beads and just as devoid of emotions, peered at her dispassionately. He didn’t sport the usual Chantry mark on his forehead, and yet Ellana could only come to one conclusion. “A Tranquil,” she murmured under her breath.

She’d interacted with Tranquils often enough during her time in the Inquisition to recognize the symptoms. 

“Yes,” Briala confirmed with sadness.

The man looked first at Ellana, then at Briala. After a moment, he stood up and bowed his head to them both, his expression remaining unperturbed. He was tall for an elf, Ellana saw, almost as tall as Solas. 

“Hello. My name is Felassan. Briala said you wanted to speak with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise some Solas, didn't I? Also, Tranquil!Felassan should be an interesting challenge for me to write...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is. Sorry for the delay folks! This chapter was hard to write :(

Briala conducted the rest of the introductions in her usual brisk manner. “Felassan, I want you to meet Ellana of clan Lavellan, formerly head of the Inquisition.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Felassan replied in his monotone voice. “I have heard of you and your organization before. Congratulations on your defeat of the darkspawn Corypheus.”

“Um, thank you.” As usual, Ellana didn’t quite know how to act when in the presence of one of the Tranquil. They always left her feeling unsettled and sad, and Felassan was no exception. She also wasn’t certain why Briala thought it so important for her to meet him. “Who is he?” she finally asked.

A riot of emotions crossed Briala’s features, but by the time she spoke, she’d regained a measure of calm. “He is the mentor who first told me about the Dread Wolf. He wasn’t always like this.”

“What happened to him?”

Briala shook her head. “He just…left one day, with no explanation. Several months later, one of my agents found him wandering the Dales, half starved and refusing to say what had happened to him.” 

_Did he even remember?_ Ellana wondered. The process of making one a Tranquil was certainly traumatic enough that amnesia might be a side-effect. “It doesn’t look to be the Chantry’s doing,” she said, thinking out loud. 

“It was not the Chantry,” Felassan informed them, unperturbed.

“From what So— “ Ellana’s voice faltered, and she grimaced. She didn’t want to bring up Solas again. Remembering happier times with him was still too painful. “Well, never mind who told me. It’s not important. What is important is that the only _other_ way I know of making a mage Tranquil is to kill them in the Fade.”

“Yes,” Felassan agreed.

Ellana observed him closely, hoping something— _anything_ —in the Tranquil’s expression would reveal the truth of the matter. But his placid mien never changed, so she ended up asking him, “Is that what happened? Were you attacked and killed in the Fade?”

Briala looked startled by that bit of information. “He never revealed even that much to me.”

“It is of no import now,” Felassan said. When Briala opened her mouth for what could only be a rebuff, he shook his head and cut her off. “Do not mourn for what was, da’len. I do not suffer.”

Ellana shuddered. He might say he wasn’t suffering, but all she could think about was how his emotions had been snuffed out like a flame, leaving behind the empty shell of a man with all the intelligence and yet none of the personality of the person he’d been before.

Was this really how Solas viewed the world? The thought was…disquieting.

Beside her, Briala was shaking with anger. “When I find whoever did this to him, they will pay.” The other woman’s voice sounded positively murderous, the most emotion Ellana had heard her express since meeting her. 

This time, Felassan didn’t answer.

“It might not have been a person,” Ellana said after a moment of hesitation. “It could have been a demon, or some other danger he encountered in the Fade.” 

Although that didn’t seem likely, now that she thought about it. A demon would have attempted to possess him, not kill him. And although the Fade was dangerous, if people frequently found their death there and became Tranquil, it would surely be common knowledge. She shook her head. In spite of the hours she’d spent with Solas and Dorian discussing magical theory, she was no mage. She might well be wrong.

“Did you think to consult with the mages? They know a lot more than I do about Tranquility.” 

Briala shrugged one shoulder. “When we found him, the mages were already rebelling. There was no one I could ask. And what would be the point? There’s nothing they can do to help.?”

“Point taken.” 

As far as most knew, Tranquility wasn’t reversible. Ellana knew better, but she didn’t want to voice the possibility just yet. Not when she wasn’t certain it could be done safely. 

“Still, he knows much about the eluvians,” Briala said, matter-of-fact once more. 

Back to the business at hand, then. Ellana nodded. “I see.”

“He once taught me about them. He might also be of some help against the Dread Wolf, even in his current condition.”

“I am still right here, da’len,” Felassan said, his expression still as placid as ever, and yet Ellana could swear she heard gentle chiding in his tone. “You do not need to speak of me as though I am not.”

Briala’s gaze shifted from Ellan to the Tranquil, then a point on the wall over both their heads. She rubbed the back on her neck and sighed. “Ir abelas. I know you are.”

“You wish to know about the eluvians. They are indeed useful. I will tell you what I know of them.” Felassan fell silent and looked at Briala first, then Ellana, perhaps waiting for their questions.

“Actually, I am more interested in learning how you know so much about them,” Ellana replied. “This isn’t everyday knowledge. Not even the Tevinter Imperium, which stole so much from Elvhenan, ever found out how they worked.” 

Felassan looked at her, and she looked back at him, an eyebrow cocked as she waited for his answer.

“I learned much while traveling the Fade,” he finally said. “I cannot do so anymore, but I have not forgotten what I saw there.”

Smooth. 

She would even have believed him, except he wasn’t the first person to use that excuse to explain knowledge of things lost to time. Her suspicions about the Tranquil were growing by the second. 

“The Fade, you say. I once knew another mage who also told me he learned much from the Fade. It turns out he was lying about that.” And a great many things beside. Lies of omission perhaps, but lies nonetheless. 

Briala, who had kept silent since her apology, stared at her former mentor with growing horror. The woman wasn’t unintelligent, and after everything Ellana had told her it was likely she was coming to the same conclusions Ellana had.

“Are you saying Felassan was one of _his_ spies?”

“I… think so, yes. Solas told me of an agent who was to give him the passphrase necessary to use the eluvians. When that agent failed, he was forced to override the magic himself.” 

“Felassan was supposed to get the passphrase from me,” she realized, her eyes growing wide with the realization. For a second, she looked like she might need to sit down. 

Ellana empathized with her. The betrayal of a friend—one as well loved as Felassan seemed to be —cut to the deepest reaches of one’s soul. 

“I believe so,” she said gently. “And this—” Ellana waved in Felassan’s direction. “—is what happened when he failed.” 

“But I don’t understand. He refused it when I offered it to him.”

Dread curled in Ellana’s stomach, bitter and burning. Solas had always stood against the rite of Tranquility. She believed he would have killed a traitor rather than make them Tranquil. And yet, that he had done so to Felassan was the only conclusion that made sense.

Why did he do it? Did she ever truly know the real Solas?

“I realized I had lost control of the eluvians the morning after Celene’s failed murder attempt. Until yesterday, I believed the culprit to be Florianne,” Briala said, breaking through Ellana’s unhappy musings. “But, your ‘elven manservant’ was responsible all along!”

On that night, Solas had gone inside the palace before the rest of them. “Fenedhis,” Ellana cursed under her breath. 

Even then, Solas had been preparing to put his plan into action. She’d hoped against all logic that he had put aside his mission while helping the Inquisition, or at least while staying at her side. She had been so blind! All her happy memories: kisses stolen in darkened corners, laughter and knowledge freely exchanged, the simple warmth of a hug, a dance shared on a starlit balcony. Was everything a lie? 

While Ellana still tried to process this new piece of information, Briala rounded on Felassan and glared at him. “Is it true?” 

For the longest time, Felassan didn’t react. Ellana started to think he would not answer but, eventually, he inclined his head. “Yes.”

“Why?” Briala choked on the word, and Ellana wasn’t certain if it was from anger or pain. It didn’t much matter, though, as she understood that feeling of betrayal quite well.

“It does not matter. It is all in the past now. It is too late for regrets.”

“Yes, it matters. If there’s anything left of the man I knew—anything of the Felassan I called hahren—you will tell me everything.” She took a step forward, her hands fisted at her side, and glared down at her old mentor.

Ellana hadn’t thought a Tranquil could ever look anything but vaguely serene, and so the way Felassan curled inward at Briala’s words, his shoulders drooping and his eyes cast to the floor, surprised her. “Very well, da’len.”

“Don’t ever call me that again,” Briala snapped back.

“Very well,” he repeated. A tense silence followed, which was broken when Felassan started speaking again. “Mistress Lavellan is right. I was a spy. My role was to observe and report. When the Dread Wolf learned of Imshael’s keystone, I was asked to retrieve the passphrase to the eluvians from you, at any cost.

When Briala offered no comment, Ellana asked, “Why didn’t you, then? She offered it to you.”

“I was compromised. When the time came to betray her, I could not do it. This I told my master. I knew there would be a price to pay for my treason.”

“And So—” Once again, she couldn’t bring herself to utter Solas’ name out loud. “—Fen’Harel made you Tranquil as a punishment.”

“I believe he expected me to die, Mistress Lavellan. But he overestimated his strength so soon after waking. And so I lived.”

The revelation that Solas had wanted to kill Felassan brought with it a terrible sense of relief. She shouldn’t feel this way, and yet knowing he hadn’t yet fallen so low as to use Tranquility to punish failure was encouraging. 

Creators knew any encouraging sign was welcome these days.


End file.
